East of Outback (15 page)

After a few minutes rest and musing, Colin shaded his brow and looked again after the hiker. He had gained a bit. He—no, it appeared to be a woman! The traveler employed a strange gait, more than a walk but not quite a trot, as if in a hurry and yet ready to drop. Colin decided to wait. The animals needed the break, if he didn’t.

The traveler stumbled, quickened her pace.
Surely Lily wouldn’t be coming out here
. The long, dark hair . . . the diminuitive form. . . . Colin gaped, stunned. It couldn’t be!

She wouldn’t be out here alone! Where was the rest of his family?

Hannah’s weary voice called plaintively, “Colin? Is it you?”

Colin mounted the mare and jerked her head in the direction they’d come, awaking her to action. He jammed his heels into her ribs and she lunged forward in a brisk canter.

“Oh, Colin! It
is
you! I was so afraid! Thank you, God! Oh, thank you, God!” Hannah, frail little determined Hannah, lurched into a disconnected run.

Colin leaped from the mare’s back and wrapped his arms around his little sister. Sobbing, she fell against him and clung tight.

Colin would not have thought he had any more tears after the frightening, twisted events of this terrible day. But a few fell unbidden before he could put up his guard. No matter. Hannah was weeping in earnest now, babbling incoherently. With her face buried against his chest she wouldn’t see his tears at all.

He looked about desperately for any sign of solid shade. Trying to pry her loose from her vise-like grip, he murmured, “Hannah, Hannah. Under here, come on.” He pushed her down to sitting under the mare’s broad belly and leaned her against the stout front legs. Max’s Lady stood still, as if she knew somehow her protection was needed.

Colin sat down in the dirt beside Hannah and shook his head. “What a mess you are!” He recalled how Hannah had spent a good deal of her childhood with scuffed knees, the price of being a tomboy. But they were more than scuffed now; her shins were covered with dried, blackened blood, her knees torn and raw. The palms of her hands were scraped too, and gravel stuck to the caked blood. Dirt smudged her face from eyebrow to chin.

Her blue-striped frock was torn and dirty—another throwback from her childhood. He handed her his handkerchief, and she blew more blood from her nose and attempted to clean some of the grime from her face.

“You came out here alone, Hannah?”

She nodded. “After I jumped from the train and started running this way I had an awful thought. What if I was wrong? What if it wasn’t you after all that I’d seen from the window, and I should have ridden into Kalgoorlie like the conductor insisted? And then I thought, what if I can’t catch up to your horse? Oh, Colin, I had such horrible thoughts.”

“
You jumped off the train?
Hannah, it passed miles ago, and it was
moving—I
mean really moving!”

She nodded. “So I started praying to God. It works for Mum, so I tried it. Mum said once you mustn’t make deals with God. I wanted to so bad, but I decided I better do it her way. I didn’t say, ‘God, if you’ll help me catch up to Colin—and it better be Colin and not some stranger, I’ll be good forever for you,’ but I wanted to. But He heard me and He did it. Don’t you see? He did it!”

“Hannah,
why
did you do this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did. I wanted to find you.”

Colin barked, “No! You better start giving me the din-kum oil, because I’m this close to riding away and leaving you.” He held up two fingers, pinched together. “
This close!
”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t invite you here. You’re not my responsibility.”

Her eyes grew big. “You’ve changed, Colin.”

“Maybe. I’ve seen the world—like you wouldn’t believe. Death and betrayal—deceit, greed, tragedy.
Noble Sake Tamemoto; ignoble uncles!
Of course I’ve changed. So have you. You used to pull funny little tricks and pranks. But this isn’t a bit funny, Hannah.”

“Colin, everything’s wrong at home since you left.”

“It was wrong before I left.”

Her huge dark eyes pored over him. “When Uncle Aidan wrote and asked Papa to send money—”

“
He what?
”

“To help feed you. I was afraid you were terribly sick or hurt and couldn’t work. I thought you must be all alone out here. You didn’t have anybody. I had to come.” The child in Hannah Sloan spoke through the face of a woman. Softly she implored, “Please don’t be mad at me, Colin.”

His hat kept brushing the horse’s belly. He dragged it off and tossed it aside. Wearily he rubbed his face with both hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“I’m not mad at you, Hannah.” Colin drew his knees up to give his elbows something to hang on to. I can’t believe—yair, I guess I can, too. Dizzy was right. When they put the mare down that shaft they knew she’d never come up again. I worked for them for weeks, and I’m sure now they never intended to pay me, not even at the reduced wage. They stole my money, and then they had the gall to ask Papa for still more. Those wretches!”

Hannah looked at him blankly.

Colin gazed into Hannah’s sweet little face and wished he could find some answers there. “They’re scoundrels, Hannah. They’re not even ambitious scoundrels. They’re lazy scoundrels. And Uncle Liam says Papa is the worst. I can’t believe anything he says, but if he’s even half right—Hannah, what if I’m that way and just won’t admit it? Or don’t know it? Maybe I
am
as sneaky and crooked as Papa says I am.”

“No! You’re the genuine article, Colin. Don’t even think that!”

“I’m past thinking. My loaf doesn’t function anymore.” Colin rolled out from under the mare and gained his feet. He held out a hand. “Come on. I don’t have enough water to clean you up. Let’s go on to the next settlement and civilize you.”

Hannah giggled and lurched erect stiffly. “Can’t be done, else Mum would’ve managed it years ago. Right?”

“Dead set!” Colin boosted her up into his saddle, laughing.

Hannah’s poor knees spent another twenty-four hours unattended, for they did not reach a settlement that day. At dusk they left the railway for a quarter of a mile to a cluster of sandalwood trees and there found a seep with water enough for Max but not quite enough for Max’s Lady.

They camped without a fire. During the night headlights from a motor car or truck rattled east in the distance by the tracks. Hours later the lights passed again heading west.

Late the next afternoon Colin and Hannah reached a little shantytown, a spiritless cluster of cramped, tin-roofed buildings. The settlement existed for no other reason than to house the fettlers who maintained this particular stretch of the Trans.

The Trans. Colin thought often about this desolate, magnificent railway linking east to west—Adelaide and Port Augusta to Kalgoorlie and eventually Perth. All the history books told the heroic tale of its construction. How often had he read about the blood, sweat, and tears—the very lives of men and camels that went into it? But that was just head knowledge. Riding alongside its tracks became for him a heart experience, for he had just spent over two days in the saddle, and he was not even a tiny fraction of the way across. There is distance, and there is distance. And then there is the distance the Trans covers.

The only accommodation in this village could not really be called a pub, but it boasted a toilet out back. Hannah spent twenty minutes in the ladies’ facility washing off blood and dirt. When she joined Colin she didn’t look a whole lot better, but certainly cleaner.

She flopped into a chair and drank a glass of water in three gulps. “Do we have enough money for a nice dinner? I’d so love a nice dinner.”

“Yair, but we can’t stay here. We’ll camp outside tonight, like last night.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t get too cold, I guess. How much money do we have?”

“Two quid seven. Dizzy insisted I take it when we parted. I’ll have to make it last.”

“I made two shillings last clear to Adelaide, almost.” She pondered the bare wooden table before them, “Colin? Perhaps we could get jobs here. If we made enough money for trainfare we could go anywhere we wish.”

“You’re going home.”

“Colin, please don’t send me back.”

“I won’t send you. I wish I could, but I can’t. I’ll take you, at least to the city line. It’d be too dangerous, a little girl traveling alone.”

“I’m not a
little
girl!”

“You
are
a little girl. It’s a miracle you got this far.”
Miracle
. There he was, using God-words again.

“You travel all over. So can I.”

“It’s different with a girl, Hannah. I’m a man and I’m older.”

“What’s different? I’m as fast as you are, and as smart. I proved I can travel; I got here, didn’t I?”

“With a girl, there’s the chance that something might—” He studied her a minute, holding those huge dark eyes with his. “Never mind. Just take my word for it, it’s different.”

“No.” She shook her stubborn little head. “No. I’ll stay with you. If you go off and leave me I’ll make a way. But I’m not going back unless you do.” The dark eyes blazed. “And that is the end of that!”

That indeed was the end of that. Never in his life could Colin outargue his little sister. Why bother trying? Their beef stew (the only dish on the menu) did not taste nearly as good as meals at the Exchange. Or perhaps Colin’s fate had soured his taste buds. His responsibilities in Kalgoorlie no doubt improved the flavor of those pleasant meals with Diz and Lily.

There was one way out. He could send a letter to Papa and ask for the money to come home.

He’d die first.

“Hee, lads; your ear.” A grizzled mountain of a fellow stepped up to the bar and turned to address the room.

“Not you again, Brekke,” yelled someone from the far side of the room.

“You’re all aware we’re short-handed, and we’re short of sleepers in the bargain. I’ll shout for any man here who agrees to come with me down south for sleepers. Twill be extra work; I’ll not take any fettlers off the tracks.” He looked around expectantly.

Hannah leaned forward. “What’re sleepers?”

“The wooden cross-ties that hold the railway tracks.”

“How long?” asked the heckler across the room.

“Fortnight.”

“Last time you said ‘fortnight’ we were gone three weeks. Not I, Brekke.”

“Come, lads. Bonus of five quid a head if you see it through to the end. What say?”

Muttering and a spate of laughter seemed to be all they had to say. Then a fellow rose and walked to the bar. He spat out an unholy epithet. “Brekke, you ratbag, you know I’ll do anything for a free ale. Sign me up. Pay by the week; Saturday without fail. None of this ‘fortnight’ foolery.”

“Pay by the week it is, Jack. I’ve got one. Who’s next?”

Colin found himself speaking up. “You’ve two, if my little sister can find boarding with a decent family here; I can’t leave her here alone.”

The huge man studied them both a moment. “Bit hard, mate; not much here. We’ll take her along, if she can cook.”

“I can, sir!” Hannah blurted without a second’s hesitation.

“She can’t!” Colin shot back.

“I can! I’ll sew on buttons and such too if I may go along.”

“I’ve two and a cook,” cried Brekke. “Who’s next?”

“Why’d you do that?” Colin scolded. “You’re not going! Do you realize how tough these ruffians are? Men who wouldn’t think twice about—”

She cut him off. “You go adventuring. So can I. Besides, you know we need the money, and with two of us working we’ll get it twice as fast.” Those big dark eyes softened. “You’ve been halfway ‘round the world, and your shipwreck on the pearl boat and all, so trav—”

“How do you know about that?”

“’Twas in the newspaper. So traveling and jobs are old hat to you, but I’ve never been out of New South Wales. I’ve never ever had a true job. This is so exciting, Colin!”

Exciting? Lovely. Just lovely
.

Brekke was roaring, “You, lad! You have a horse, eh? That bay out front. Does she pull?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll hire her, too. We’ll need a horse for the close work.”

“There! See, Colin? We’ll make pounds of money!”

It took Mr. Brekke all night to finish assembling a crew. Next morning they caught a westbound freight into Kal, detrained at the yards east of town and clambered up into the back of a big, rumbling stakeside lorry—Max’s Lady, Max and all.

Colin had somehow expected to take the train all the way; after all, these were workers for the railway. On the other hand, he’d never before ridden any distance in the back of a truck. It was exhilarating somehow, albeit dusty.

Hannah glowed like Christmas. All smiles and excitement, she hung on the stakesides to watch the road ahead, her hair tumbling on the wind, or sat at the rear simply to stare at the pall of bulldust boiling out behind. What was going on in the child’s mind? What was she planning next? Colin hated to think about it.

They made good time in this thing, bounding along down the flat, dry track. They would have easily covered three hundred miles that day if the truck hadn’t broken down in Kambalda. Mr. Brekke was four hours by the roadside before getting a ride back to Kal with a traveler who happened along in a Ford touring car.

Colin knew nothing of mechanical repair other than what Dizzy had taught him about the air pumps on pearl boats. With nothing to do but stay out of the way, he wandered around the abandoned settlement, poking and exploring and admonishing Hannah to stay close by. She stayed so close she was right on top of him all morning. He wished she hadn’t taken him quite so literally.

Thirty years ago, Kambalda enjoyed prosperity as the gold fields’ population center, with Kalgoorlie the upstart town. Now Kambalda sat totally abandoned under the hot, dry sun. Colin probed the ruins of the Red Hill mine and saw in its dusty past the future of the Southern Star and possibly even of such venerable giants as the Ivanhoe and Perseverance.

Hannah didn’t do too badly at preparing lunch. She made lots of sandwiches, while the bread was still fresh. Colin helped. In fact, all three crewmen seemed very helpful. They laughed at Hannah, they laughed with Hannah, they teased her and encouraged her. The sun had drifted past three p.m. before Hannah got the lunch leftovers cleared and stowed.